


Degradation

by Katrine



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe, Anxiety, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Cock Slut, Consent Issues, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Groping, Implied Consent, Loss of Control, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mindfuck, Obedience, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Public Humiliation, Role Reversal, Sex Addiction, Tattoos, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:31:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katrine/pseuds/Katrine
Summary: You used to be in control.





	Degradation

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU fic, featuring my Topstep and Reikor's "Slavestep" and their imagined relationship in an AU where both exist and do crimes. Reikor's sidestep is manipulative and breaks down Topstep's confidence in order to take over his organisation. Please mind the tags before reading this<3

Just a few scarce months ago, you would never have allowed this. Just a few months ago, everyone in your organization bowed to you. Answered to you. Feared you. Now, you feel lucky when your previous trusted underlings fuck you, let alone let you come. You have no control over anything anymore. Anyone. But isn’t that for the best? You were so bad at it. It’s a wonder this entire structure didn’t collapse. That your people didn’t rebel. You had no vision. No ability.

 

Until Master showed you the truth. When he first came to you, you thought _you_ were the one doing him a favor. Gifting him your attention, and your talents as a Dom. He was the best you’d had in a long time. The best you would ever have in a long time. In the end, he’s still the best you’ve ever had. Ever will have. And he showed you how wrong you were. Taught you that Master knows best. You most certainly don’t. All the control you worked so hard to amass was proven false, a smoke-screen for you true self. You realized what he was doing, at first, chipping away at your sense of self. Taking apart your confidence. Once you confronted him, got it all out in the open, you thought you’d gotten him under control. That he couldn’t manipulate you. Couldn’t ruin you. That delusion was your undoing.

 

Or was your undoing simply due to your own incompetence?

 

You were wrong about so many things. He had better ideas than you. Better plans. It was so easy to let him suggest ideas. Assist with recruitment. With his guidance, your criminal empire managed to swallow up even more of your city. He is so smart, and letting him run things seemed logical. Right. Even when the thought of not asking him for permission began to make your body shake, your guts fill with an anxious clump. You were still fooling yourself, at that time. Thinking you were still in control. Thank God you weren’t. The day when he finally usurped you, though, remains clear in your mind. At the time you still had the willpower to rebel. Or try to.

 

On the surface, the handover looked almost peaceful. You were announcing your plans to your henchpeople, when Master made a conflicting suggestion. Your underlings agreed to it. Deferring to him, not you. You remember studying the faces of your innermost circle, flabbergasted at the blatant show of disrespect. The boiling rage filling your veins would usually have been enough to drive you to murder. But, you couldn’t. The room was turned against you. Nobody cared for your protests. You were just a puppet, barely even good enough to manage your work. You remember the smoldering rage turning to ice. Filling your body with a leaden weight as you sunk back down into your chair. After all of your former underlings had left, you sat still, frozen. Unable to move. You remember him, standing behind you. Arms on your shoulders. Gentle. Kneading. You were shivering, eyes wet. How did this happen? Were you always so weak? So pathetic? He was right. He was always right. He knew better than you. You couldn’t do anything without him. You felt like you were floating. Falling. The resigned calm of someone about to hit the ground. Then, you heard his voice, whispering in your ears as the rest of the room disappeared into white noise.

 

“Don’t worry, dear. You know I’m better than you at running things. Really, this is a good thing. And no worries, I won’t throw you away. I’m sure we can find something, or someone, for you to do. You can still serve. You can still serve me,” he crooned reassuringly. Then, giving you a drawn-out peck on the neck. One hand, moving up to your head. Tousling your hair. You’d always been strict about nobody touching it, before. Now, you find you don’t mind. Master knows best. Your cheeks are wet, chest heaving. But there is an immense pressure in your pants, the stiffie rather obvious now that your hands aren’t covering it. How long was that there? When you answer, it’s hard to admit it’s your voice. You speaking. But you know the words come from your heart. Tinged with desperation.

 

“Yes Master. I’ll do anything to be useful. Please. Please, let me help you.”

 

He laughs, the sound real and delighted. “You’re really mine, aren’t you? Don’t worry. I’ll help you utilize your skills, darling. You won’t have to worry your pretty little head ever again.” At this, you felt like you should protest. But you couldn’t.

 

You never did.

 

\-------

 

True to his word, he lets you use what little ability you have to help. He tells you what to do, and you obey. Instantly. Even if you know you are a failure, doesn’t mean you can’t help out with less important things, and Master is so smart. He knows what you can do. Unfortunately, so does everyone else. Your dethroning was a public affair, after all. Had you not been so inept, you would have realized what was happening for months before then. But Master kept it all from crumbling. Your empire, still intact, though of course Master runs it now. He lets you give him advice and do paperwork, sometimes. You think you have a good memory, remembering details crucial to your operation. He said so, at least. But you can’t do any business, anymore. You can’t help, because you are a pitiable failure who would have brought yourself to ruin. You’re so grateful Master stopped you. Lets you assist him.

 

When you’re with him is the only time you really feel alive. You barely leave the gang’s building, these days. You can’t bother Master too much and you would need his permission. Even leaving your rooms make you jittery, heart beating too fast. It feels wrong. You’ve become numb, ever since learning how wretched you really are. But Master always knows the answer.

 

Master is so good to you. Master knows what’s best for you.

 

When he calls you to him, to his rooms, you always feel warm and light. Grateful. He makes you feel, and you couldn’t ever repay him for his kindness. He lets you hurt him. Find pleasure, you know, for both of you. For him. Everything is for him. You’ve become so tentative, so unsure since he exposed you. But Master is so kind, he tells you what to do. Provokes you. Guides you. You can’t do anything without him. Your hands on his throat, teeth leaving marks on his chest, your dick buried in him, floggers and whips used too harshly. All because he wills it.

 

You only feel useful when paying him back with your flesh.

 

You find other ways to be useful too. Before, you would stomp down hard on any hint of dissent and disrespect. Now, you realize with a frightening clarity how you can serve, as your former crew makes passes at you. Paws at you. It’s almost a relief. To know your body is still useful. Still desirable. When people grope you, you don’t resist. When they tug you down to your knees, a fist grasping your hair, you go down willingly. When you feel the heavy heat of a cock on your lips, you open them unthinkingly. It feels so good to serve. You need- you need to feel something. Mindless, simmering heat. Lust fanning out from your crotch. Closing your eyes, you breathe calmly through your nose, working your tongue the best way you know how. You need to learn. You need to get better.

 

In the weeks following that incident, you find more and more ways to debase yourself. To let others find pleasure in your body. Your mindless flesh. It feels so good. Some prefer to use your mouth, insulting you all the while. You were such an awful boss, it’s only right to let them get something back for it. Get back at you. Others take the time to explore your body, which you even now manage to shape into something pleasing, something exquisite. Working you until you’re begging ( _you never knew it would feel so good_ ), and you crave it. You crave more. When they’re feeling gracious, some people use your ass, fucking you until you’re barely coherent. Screaming and begging incomprehensibly, clawing at whatever surface they’re fucking you on. It feels so good. Almost too good. You’d do anything to keep feeling like this.

 

Master finds you like that, the first time he acknowledges your new habit. Your sleeping around. Your _whoring_. Fucked out and worn out. Naked, with scratches all over your back, spit drooling from the corner of your mouth. You’re pretty sure your hair is a mess. You don’t bother putting it up, anymore. You shudder as you try to raise yourself up. The scratches sting, and you cherish the feeling.  Everything is too numb. Too much. You want more.

 

He laughs, face crooking up into satisfied grin. His eyes are dark. “You’ve really lost it, haven’t you, darling?” he says, moving towards you. voice teasing. You try, once again, to move, but a hand at the small of your back stops you. Makes you tense. Is he angry?

 

“How far you’ve fallen,” he chuckles, “there really is nothing left of the old you by now, is there?” You’re shaking. Trembling. His nails are picking at your scratched up skin, head tilted to the side. Teeth bared, lips pulled apart in a wide smile. You feel a tinge of excitement running down your spine at the touch. Master. Your cock feels heavier. Blood rushing downwards. You make a sound, almost a whine. You need this. Need to be useful. Do...something, anything for yourself. Even if it’s empty release at the hands of people who once would have begged for a chance to even go down on you. Your legs feel so weak. His hand wanders down your spine. Slides down to your ass. The surge of shame is not entirely unexpected. You’ve been well-fucked. Of course, you’re much too pathetic to be used for anything else. His hands tighten. Copping a feel. You let out a moan. Shaking. You feel wetness seeping out of you, down your legs, hearing Master’s half-surprised laugh.

 

“You like that? You want me to touch you, darling? Dear?” he spreads you wide, nails digging into your flesh. Lets go of you, a moment later, snickering.  Then you feel a stinging pain, cringing, tensing as the slap connects. He doesn’t hold back.

 

“Pl..please, Master! I need… I want, I want something. Anything,” you can’t stop yourself from begging. So weak. You were so lucky when he took pity on you. What would happen if someone else managed to get you like this? You can’t see him grin, but you can hear the glee of it in his voice.

 

“I think we can arrange for something, if you’d like,” he teases, leaning over you, hand snaking between your legs. As you climax, eyes crossing, you vaguely realize you’re muttering thank you. Thank you. _Thank you_.

 

\-----

 

Master always delivers on his promises. After that meeting, more of your old henchpeople ( _your superiors_ ) seem intent on making use of you. Some, you recognize, knowing them very well. They rarely seem to acknowledge you as anything other than what you are, though. An easily manipulated wreck, begging for scraps at Master’s table. He’s so good to you. He calls you to him, occasionally, to fulfill his desires. He won’t abandon you, even though you deserve it. You’re so thankful for that.

 

On one of your more blissed out days, you’re fucked halfway out of it when Master proposes a new idea. To mark you. Brand you. Permanently. You’re left confused, floundering at the idea. The allure of showing you belong to him warring with your desire to make a decision that will please him. The choice is too much, to stressful, your heart hammering away in your chest. You can’t answer. You just want to make Master happy.

 

“That’s a yes, then, darling?” he says, voice saccharine sweet as he stretches out a hand. You nod, leaning into his touch. Kissing his palm. Your breathing feels much calmer already. Master knows best. “Good boy, you fucked out pet,” he says, his voice soothing. Cooing into your ears during the next few hours, as you try to center yourself through the pain. The pain of branding your skin with ink, a permanent tramp stamp on your ass. A message. A reminder. A gift. You cry, shaking with the effort of holding still. It’s… almost good, suffering like this. And Master looks happy. You want to please him, make him happy, so so very bad.

 

Master ruffles your tangled mess of a hair, laughing softly to himself. “How’s it going, _cumslut_? I have to say, that new brand of yours is quite fitting.” Laying down on your front due to your new tattoo, you try to crane your neck up at him. You amuse him a lot, though it’s become more and more difficult to understand why. You’re not broken, Master simply… showed you the truth about yourself. Ruined all that you were. You join in his laughter, a slightly manic quality to your chuckles. This is it. You have no more defenses left. You need Master. You need to please him. You can’t fathom making any choices you don’t know please him. He’s all you have. Without him, you’d be nothing. You dimly realize you’re sobbing, chest heaving with each breath. You belong to him.

 

“Aww, what’s wrong, darling?”

 

You almost can’t answer, sniveling as you are. “I- I’m so sorry. I’m so useless, I can’t do anything by myself, I can’t- I can’t be what you want me to be,” you trail of, realizing you’re ranting as your body is beset by a cold sweat. You never should have been allowed to choose anything. Do anything. He grasps your head in his, pressing a chaste kiss to your sweaty brow.

 

“Dear, don’t you worry. Don’t you remember what I said? We’ll always find something, or someone for you to do. I’ll let you serve me, darling.” He moves one finger, forming a pattern on your cheek. “I’ll help you be useful.” The touch is calming, and your eyes flutter shut, feeling so soft. So safe. Master knows best. Master will take care of you.

 

You don’t need to worry about anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Reikor and Luka for helping me out with this fic! You are both invaluable inspiration and extremely helpful. Without Reikor and her character this would not exist. Luka also did an excellent job betaing and making this a smoother read. 
> 
> Reikor can be found on tumblr as @Auroriane, and Luka can be found at @awkward-screeching.


End file.
